


brighter than moonbeams

by the_most_beautiful_broom



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Christmas, Exes, F/M, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, Nurses, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28357395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_most_beautiful_broom/pseuds/the_most_beautiful_broom
Summary: Murphy and Emori fall in love fast, and then talk themselves out of it. Years later, their paths will cross again, and they realize that their might be parts of their story that are yet to be written.
Relationships: Emori/John Murphy (The 100)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13
Collections: TROPED: Holiday Trope Exchange 2.0





	brighter than moonbeams

**Author's Note:**

> Leave it to me to make an exes to lovers fic melancholy and hopeful. I'm blaming 2020; it's just the vibes. Tropes are at the end!

They fell in love at a frat party, a blur of smoke and etymology, and they promised to lie about it. 

The frat party part; it was off brand for both of them. The falling in love part, there was no denying that. 

It happened furiously, every spare moment with each other, the antidote to their demons in the arms of the other. The semester flew by, they tangled deeper, words they’d only heard now having new meaning. They burned like gas station cigarettes--bright, strong, furious, then extinguished.

They didn’t mean to. 

But undergrad was up and Emori’s residency was in Arkadia and Murphy wasn’t going to stay in Washington, not with this many ghosts. Travel nursing had been the plan since middle school, just as physiatry had always been hers. It was the impossible choice, but it was the right one, and they were the kind of people who did what made sense. 

They didn’t cry, didn’t cling to each other, just looked, memorizing the other’s face in the afternoon sun, smiles like barricades to hold their hearts at bay. Then he stepped back and their fingers slipped apart and it was best, it was what was right, and as they walked away, neither of them looked back.

Life went on. 

Life always did. 

It was duller, cloudy even on the sunniest days, but it was for the best. They were strong enough to weather this, and Murphy learned that he was stronger than he thought. 

Turned out, loving someone more than the air in his lungs had a way of getting him out of his head. 

* * *

Slamming his laptop shut doesn’t stop Murphy from reading his new assignment. 

He glares at the ceiling of the Hilton Express in downtown Houston, courtesy of the travel nurse agency he’s called his employer for the last six years. The popcorn ceiling has a cluster of plaster that looks like a clown, and Murphy makes a face at it before letting out a long breath and reopening the laptop.

Astonishingly enough, it hasn’t changed.

**Six weeks at St Jude’s,** the email reads, **Arkadia, WA.**

Murphy scratches the back of his neck, wondering if he zones out staring at the screen, if the letters will rearrange themselves like in that one Harry Potter movie. 

His vision blurs but the letters don’t change.

Damnit. 

He’s going to Arkadia. 

Murphy pushes away from the desk, starts pacing the room before he can tell himself not to. It’s not like he can’t protest this. Of course he can, there’s protocols and extenuating circumstances, and he could probably get out of this. 

He doesn’t even know if she’s still there.

Murphy’s phone vibrates, the sound loud against the desk, and he crosses the room to his group text going wild.

**Miller** : Anyone else got San Diego? 

**Harper** : Ohhh lucky you, a green Christmas! I have Arkadia; I’ve never been. 

**Octavia** : You’re going to love it, Harper! It’s so pretty. I have Tucson…

**Echo:** I’m Arkadia, too, Harper! 

**Bellamy** : Miller, I’m with you.

**Jasper** : I have San Diego, too. Enjoy freezing your asses off up in Canada, folks

**Monty** : ...dude

**Miller** : Who’s gonna tell him?

**Octavia** : Arkadia’s on our side of the border, Jas.

**Echo** : It terrifies me that you have a BSN, Jordan

**Harper** : LOL in his defense, it’s right on the border

**Jasper** : Sounds like sour grapes there, Echo. 

**Octavia** : wait, so nobody else has Tucson? What the hell guys.

The chat continues to vibrate, typical of the moments after their new shifts come out. Murphy shakes his head at their antics, in spite of himself. He types in his answers, to join the madness. 

**Murphy** : Yeah, I’m Arkadia, too. Monty?

**Monty** : Arkadia

**Harper** : Yay! Mini reunion in Arkadia!!!

**Octavia** : I hate you all.

The group of them met in training, a group of post grads, cramming for certifications and living off $.99 ramen in the dorms. They’d been drawn to travel nursing for different reasons--broken homes, deep empathy, medical curiosity, fixing a hurting world--and as they’d gone through the recruitment, testing and assignment processes, they’d grown close. 

They’ve been stationed across the country over the six years, and usually a couple of them will wind up at the same hospitals. Never all of them, and never all at once, but enough of them to get by. 

Murphy counts himself lucky. 

It’s a weird sort of family he has here, a community of nurses who go where they’re needed, and always hope to overlap.

This time he’s in Arkadia, with Harper, Monty, Echo, and whoever else is on staff at Arkadia. 

Whoever else, Murphy thinks wryly. It’s a hell of a way to think of the hospital he used to call home. 

Undergrad was only a couple years ago, but it feels like longer. 

The last week in Houston goes by quickly, and before Murphy knows what’s happening, he’s stepping out of a taxi in front of St. Jude’s in Arkadia. 

He and the others arrived at different points in the night, shared jet-lagged hugs as they converged in the lobby, from flights across the nation; now they’re in the lobby of St Jude’s, signing in for the first time and accepting the security badges that the agency had made ahead for them. 

Murphy attaches his badge to his belt, following the receptionist’s instructions to the breakroom. It’s the typical fare--bright lights, gray counters, stale snacks in wicker baskets. Harper and Echo are glumly fixated around the keurig and Monty leans against the counter, delicately picking at a disintegrating granola bar. 

The three of them acknowledge each other, having had their greetings the night before, and energy this morning is conserved towards the greater effort of their inaugural shift at a new hospital.

The edge of the wrapper crumples, granola crumbs fly, and Monty’s shoulders slump as the oats scatter on the linoleum. 

Echo snickers.

“So,” Harper pushes away from the counter, waving a couple of napkins at Monty as she crosses over to Murphy, handing him a plastic cup of coffee. “How’s it feel?”

Murphy considers making a glib remark about how the coffee’s temperature is barely above tepid, but he figures it’s too early for that. “How’s what feel?” he asks instead. 

“Being back,” Harper prompts, sliding between him and Monty against the counter.

“Ah, that,” Murphy says, like it hasn’t occurred to him yet.

“Oh, that’s right,” Echo says, looking up from the keurig. “Weren’t you raised here?”

“What kind of coffee do they have over there, E?” Monty asks, from the floor. 

It’s a valiant effort from his friend, and Murphy appreciates the attempt.

“It’s okay,” he mutters to Monty, who lifts a shoulder as he scoops up the rest of the crumbs and pushes to his feet again to throw them away. “Yeah, I’m from around here.”

Echo’s eyes narrow as she looks between him and Monty, having picked up on the fact that there’s details to a story she doesn’t know. 

It’s not personal; Monty just happens to know a little more of Murphy’s baggage.

Harper clears her throat. “Well, that’s great, then,” she says, cheerily. “You can let us know where to grab coffee from, before our next shift.”

Monty tosses the napkins in the trash, rolling his neck. “Since we’re already off to a great start today,” he mumbles.

Harper slides down a little, the three of them hip-to-hip, watching Echo and the sputtering keurig across the room.

There’s an echoing sound of an uneven footfall on the hospital floors and they look up to see a white coat in the door of the lounge. The woman wearing it has her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she favors her left leg as she surveys the room. 

Murphy feels like he shouldn’t look her in the eye, but he doesn’t have to look behind him to know Echo’s thrilled. 

“You’re my new nurses?” the woman asks, chin lifting slightly. 

“We are,” Monty says. “I’m Monty Green, this is Echo, Harper and Murphy.”

“Doctor Reyes,” the woman says crisply. “Head of anesthesiology.” 

Harper makes an impressed sound behind him, and Murphy kind of agrees; this woman has to be some kind of genius to be a head of a department, much less anesthesiology. 

“Nice to meet you,” Echo says.

“Yep.” Murphy echoes, because he should probably say something.

Doctor Reyes hums. 

“I’ll show you where the schedules are posted,” she says, turning. “This way.”

Two steps later, just as they’ve pushed away from the counter to follow her, she turns again. 

“I--,” she stops, her ponytail swishing as she looks down, then back up at them. “We’re short staffed this holiday, and we appreciate you being here.”

She doesn’t wait for them to say anything, just nods at them like it’s something she needed to say and, having said it, she’s under no obligation to see how it lands. 

Oddly, Murphy gets the feeling it wasn’t a supervisor that told her to say something, just her own sense of decorum.

They follow her through the hospital. 

It looks how Murphy remembers--clean, long, a little cold, a little old. It’s familiar.

Dr. Reyes isn’t inclined to a verbose tour, so Murphy elbows the others as they walk by relevant rooms. He watches them catalog the layout as they walk along, where supply closets are, where elevators and nurses’ stations are, where the restrooms are and where families of patients wait. 

They reach the end of a corridor, into a larger lounge where their badges are required for entry. Doctor Reyes opens the door, passing it to whoever’s behind her before striding quickly into the room. Monty scoots around Harper and Echo to hold the door gallantly; the girls smile at him when they walk past, and Murphy gives an exaggerated bow as he enters the room. Monty snorts, and the door swings shut behind them. 

Doctor Reyes introduces them to the other staff in the room--a chaplain named Gaia, a pediatrician named Wells, a neurosurgeon named Clarke--and Murphy finds himself holding his breath each time the door opens and a new person walks in. 

So far, so good. 

Well, not good. 

But safe. 

They meet a couple others, and Doctor Reyes shows them where their charts are posted; Murphy’s relieved to find that nothing’s changed, so he only has to listen with half his brain. Being back in this hospital is more distracting than he was prepared for. He’ll be professional, of course, it’s his job, but being here just reminds him of a time when his future was gilded. Before…

He pulls a hand through his hair; now’s not the time for unpacking his life story. 

“--and that should do it, as far as a tour goes,” Doctor Reyes is saying. She smiles inanely at the group of them, and then her smile turns genuine as her eyes focus on someone behind the four of them. “Oh, one more introduction: this one of our top Rehabilitation Physicians, Emori Reina.”

And there it is. 

Monty spins immediately, and Harper’s hand settles briefly on his arm as she turns as well. He ignores the weight of their eyes, and Echo’s confusion. 

“You’re Emori,” Monty breathes, and Murphy loves his friend, he does, but he wishes he didn’t have to sound so awestruck. 

“I am,” she says, and Murphy lets out a breath. 

She sounds the same. 

Like the lapping of an eager tide in a lagoon, like the wind rustling a canopy of leaves, like the birds in the calm before the sun breaks on the horizon. 

Like the only peace he’s known for certain. 

“I’m Harper,” Harper is saying, voice pitched a little higher than normal, not like anyone at Arkadia would notice.

Monty and Echo definitely notice. 

“I’m Monty,” Monty jumps in. “This is Echo and this is--”

“John,” Emori says, and it sounds like she didn’t mean to, but she recognized his shoulders and couldn’t help it. 

Murphy turns around. 

“Hi, Em,” he says, quiet. 

She smiles, just a bit, an echo of the expression he vividly remembers, ghosting across her face. Her hair is pulled back in a loose bun, speared with a pencil, to hold it in place, a couple strands loose from it. Her scrubs are navy blue, her brown eyes quick and bright as ever. 

She looks away, just as quickly, and Murphy‘s throat is suddenly tight.

Damn. 

She’s supposed to look different, like an entirely separate person, altered and new.

Instead, she looks like he’d always imagined her, when he imagined them in the future. Beautiful in the elegant, understated way that meant she never believed his assurances, serene with the maturity of years, alight from within. 

“Wait,” Doctor Reyes crosses from behind the nurses to stand between Emori and them, her eyebrows raised. “You’re John?”

Murphy doesn’t know what that means, that Doctor Reyes would recognize him by his first name. Probably something similar to Monty and Harper recognizing Emori, 

“Jonathan,” Echo says dryly, “if you really want to push his buttons.”

“No one wants that; hi,” Harper gushes, rushing towards Emori, hand outstretched, an eager smile on her face. “I’m Harper.”

“You already said that,” Monty says, but he comes forward too, and takes Emori’s hand next. 

“The nurses from the agency,” Emori says, context creeping in. “Um, wow. Yeah, that makes sense. Don’t let me interrupt, Raven; nice to meet all of you.”

She smiles quickly around the circle, dips her head and walks past them, deeper into the lounge. 

The group is quiet for a moment.

Echo’s the only one still parallel to Murphy, and she looks around. “Am I the only one who doesn’t know what just happened?”

“We’ll fill you in later,” Harper says, still smiling brightly, her lips not moving. 

“Murphy, are you going to--”

“I’ll be right back,” Murphy interrupts Monty’s question, and Echo moves aside as he turns quickly, to follow Emori. 

He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, but he can’t just stand there and pretend this didn’t happen. 

Emori’s deeper into the lounge, past the seating area, turning a lock at one of the lockers in the back. She doesn’t fully turn to him, when his footsteps signal he’s getting closer, but her head tilts a little, till her chin is parallel with her shoulder, and her shoulders sink. 

Murphy stops, a step or two behind her, unsure how much space she wants, or he needs. 

Her head turns back to the locker, where she’s pulling out a jacket and a purse. 

“I figured we’d be here, eventually,” she says to the locker. 

Murphy wonders if she means in this lounge, in each others’ company, at the hospital. 

“Feels sooner than I thought,” he says.

She laughs, an echo of an exhale into the locker. She fits the purse on her arm, slips a phone into her back pocket, and then she turns. 

Murphy almost takes a step back, instinctively, but instead he lifts his chin a little, letting her look at him, as he does her. 

It’s different than in the front of the room. 

It’s just them, brown eyes and blue, thousands of memories, hundreds of questions. He wonders what she sees, if it’s good or if it’s what she expected, and what they’re going to do for the rest of the rotation. 

Emori draws in a quick breath, sharp, and nods. “We’re adults, John, and that was a long time ago.”

Huh.

She’s right, of course, he just didn’t think it would hurt to hear her say it. 

“Yeah,” he says, easy, crossing his arms across his chest. “If you’re good, I’m good.”

“I’m good,” she says. 

But she looks at him a little longer. 

Then she looks away, a little laugh to herself, her hand coming up to brush the stray tendrils of hair behind her ear. “On the plus side, it’s good to know our reputations precede both of us.”

She means how Monty and Harper immediately reacted to hearing her name, and how Doctor Reyes did the same. 

He grins, too; it feels right. 

“Quid pro quo, something like that,” he says. 

Her eyes narrow, coming back to him.

In another life, she’d challenge him on that, ask if he knows what it means, or if he’s just parroting what someone once told him, guessing the context. 

In another life, he’d tell her that he always fact checks himself, now that she’s not around to do it. 

She’d laugh and roll her eyes, maybe shove his shoulder as she brushed by him, to leave. 

In this one, though, her eyes relax, and she smiles, a little forced. 

“Something like that,” she says. 

And it’s how Murphy thought it would be. Comfortable and easy, just off-center of familiar, but functional and alright. They made their choice years ago, and it was right, and now here they are. There’s no picking up where they left off, just carrying on. 

Emori shuts her locker, and moves her head a little, asking if he’s going to move, or if she should walk around him. 

He moves.

As she walks by him, she stops herself at his shoulder, so they’re almost touching, facing opposite ways. When he looks down at her, she turns to look up at him, expression thoughtful. 

“It’s good to see you, John,” she says, voice soft. 

“You too,” he says back, and he thinks they both mean it. 

She nods a little, the smallest dip of her chin. She brushes her hair behind her ear again, and then she walks away. 

This time, she doesn’t stop, and Murphy doesn’t turn to watch her go, just listens to the sound he didn’t realize he’d memorized all those years ago.

* * *

Harper must’ve quietly caught Echo up, because she doesn’t ask about Emori. And since the bulk of their rotation has them helping out in the NICU and the OR, so Emori doesn’t cross Murphy’s paths as much as he’d worried. 

Or hoped. 

It’s mostly at the changing of shifts, just passing each other in hallways, when they smile at each other like--he’s not sure like what.

It’s not like they have a secret, something that no one else is in on. It’s not like they’re sneaking around, like they did back in the day, and it’s not like when they were flustered and bumbling, in the early part of their story. 

It’s not funny, but it feels most like that, like an inside joke that neither of them can explain. An annoying “you had to be there”, but the “there” is two years of falling in love and six years of moving on.

Still, Murphy can’t rationalize the way he just knows when Emori is around. As he always has been, he’s just drawn to her. A door will shut down the hall, he’ll know it’s her, he’ll look up and sure enough, there she is.

It’s nice, seeing her around. 

Knowing she’s there.

Hearing a laugh down a corridor, and knowing that its owner is a real person, not just his subconscious toying with him. 

A couple weeks into the rotation, Echo tells him, casually, that Emori’s not seeing anyone. He’s not sure what prompted that, how it came up, or what he’s supposed to do with it, but he knows Echo well enough to know that she kept up a pretense of subtlety while obtaining it. 

The Arkadia staff is actually pretty close knit, so maybe oversharing runs in the water here. 

Though there’s tons of breakrooms scattered throughout the hospital, most of them come back to the main lounge for breaks. It doesn’t take long for Murphy’s crew to integrate with them, and their carryout coffee orders are soon for a dozen people, whoever’s starting the shift with them, instead of the four of them.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, then, when the hospital administrator announces a Secret Santa exchange. It’s met with pretty resounding complacency--who even has time for shopping right now--but good-natured complacency, across the apartments. 

Murphy pulls Doctor Reyes, which is great and not great, because she seems to have a steady/easy rapport with people who know her, but Murphy would not count himself among that group, and neither of them have the time or energy to change that. 

There are probably simple solutions--a starbucks gift card, a box of chocolates from somewhere not in the lobby, a nice candle--but Murphy’s never been a simple person. And when Emori walks into the supply closet where he’s restocking, he thanks whatever deity is listening for the opportunity. 

“I need a favor,” he says, through shelves of saline. 

Emori hums, scooping a row of towels from a shelf onto a table. “How big a favor?”

Murphy thinks that she hasn’t changed that much, because that’s a yes, it’s just a matter of convincing her.

“I got Doctor Reyes for the secret santa thing,” he says, plopping another six pouches on his shelf. 

Emori shakes out the top towel in her pile, and starts to refold it into a tighter rectangle. “Isn’t the first rule of these things that you’re not supposed to talk about who you have?”

“It isn’t Fight Club,” Murphy mutters. 

Emori laughs, laying the folded towel into a row and picking up the next one. “Okay, so what do you need from me?”

“Help me pick something out for her?”

Emori frowns at him over the top of a tightly folded towel. “Why can’t you just do the normal thing and go to starbucks?”

“Because that’s boring.”

“Can’t have that,” Emori says dryly. 

“We can’t. Come on, she’s terrifying and I want to get her something good so she gives me a good review when this rotation is done.”

“Ah,” Emori shakes out another towel with a crack, “and his real motives come out.”

“Maybe they’re a little selfishly motivated,” Murphy says, wondering if he’s imagining the teasing lilt on her voice. It’s a nice sound; he’s missed it. 

“Maybe,” Emori agrees sagely. 

When she doesn’t say anything else, Murphy risks a glance at her, through the shelves. She’s folding towels still, hands busy and movements precise, but the beginnings of a smile are on her face. 

Something in him flutters.

It’s an unguarded expression, she probably doesn’t even know she’s doing it; it’s a pretty sight. 

He shakes his head, clearing his mind. 

“So?” he prompts. 

Emori sets a new towel on the row, almost done. “Well, I suppose I haven’t been to the market yet this year...we could probably find something personal and cool there.”

“You’re the best, Em.” Murphy’s grin is automatic and he does his best to lock away any reaction beyond that. “When are you free?”

She doesn’t seem as affected, just shrugs. “Sunday?”

“Sunday’s good for me,” he says. 

She sets the last towel on her rows, pats the top of it affectionately. “Alright then.”

Alright then, Murphy thinks.

Emori loads the towels into her arms carefully, and then looks between him and the door. “Um, would you mind?”

“Oh, sure,” Murphy says, stepping out of the row and scooting around her to get the door. 

“Thanks,” Emori mumbles. 

As she moves to step into the hallway, there’s a sharp whistle of warning, and a team of four nurses rush by with a gurney. Emori jumps back, bumping into Murphy, where he’d moved to shut the door behind her. They both tense at the sudden contact, and Murphy thinks absently that she still uses jasmine-scented shampoo, as she presses back into the room to avoid being trampled. 

“Sorry, Doctor Reina,” one of the nurses calls over their shoulder, and the gurney whips around a corner. 

Murphy opens the door, stepping back, giving Emori the space she’d lost when the team had rushed by.

She clears her throat. 

“Thanks,” she says again, probably still referring to the door. She shakes her head a little, the same loose tendrils of hair falling out of her face with the motion, and she steps out into the now clear hallway. 

Murphy has three more carts to unload into the supply closet, but he stays in the doorway until Emori disappears down the long corridor, not quite sure what he’s feeling just then. 

The rest of the week continues, as weeks are want to do, and after his shift on Sunday, Murphy drives the rental car to the fairgrounds, where the market is set up for a couple months at the year’s end.

The Arkadia Christmas Market is one of those cliche tourist traps that locals begrudgingly go to, to support local artists. They bundle themselves up in jackets and mittens, endure the above-freezing-but-definitely-still-Washington-in-the-dead-of-winter temperatures by sharing hot chocolates with their families or spiked cider with their dates.

Not that this is a date.

It’s not a date, and Murphy really needs his heart to get the memo, because when he sees Emori waving at him as she jogs across the parking lot, it leaps in his chest. 

It’s not a date, it’s just a coworker helping him find a gift for his supervisor, platonic as hell. 

Still, Emori’s face is flushed when she gets over to him, her eyes are bright and he thinks that if this were a less platonic situation, he would be---

But it isn’t. 

It isn’t, so he just smiles in what he hopes is a platonic expression, and follows her through an evergreen lined path into the Market. 

Well, into the main thoroughfare. 

Apparently, things’ve changed, and the market is in the enclosure at the end of the grounds. Between the parking lot and there is a festival, and Murphy could say that they’re there for a reason, and be purpose-oriented here, but Emori’s eyes linger a little too long on the paddock filled with christmas trees and stakes with signs--the competition where local businesses sponsor a tree, and the winner gets something like a feature in the morning news slot.

She looks quickly between the trees, trying to memorize them as they walk past, and Murphy tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Here’s an idea,” he says, like he’s just thinking of it, “do you want to check out the--”

“Yes!” Emori gushes, and she’s already pulling them towards the paddock before Murphy realizes that pulling involves contact, and that her mittened hand is wrapped around his arm, just below his elbow.

He doesn’t correct her, and she doesn’t take it back. 

When they step into the paddock of chest high trees, Emori pauses, overwhelmed with the choices. Murphy tips a little to the right, and she looks up at him, sheepish and grateful, and they start off. 

At first, they don’t say anything--Murphy doesn’t have anything to say, and the silence is filled with ambient festival sounds, and some Charlie Brown Christmas music over the speakers. Emori makes a couple sounds of excited approval, poking between branches as they explore the rows. 

She rounds a corner first, then laughs, stops quickly, and backs into the tree, facing him. 

“Let’s play a game,” she says, face alight. 

And really, what is he supposed to say, but yes?

“Sure,” Murphy agrees. 

Emori beams. “Okay, guess which organization, committee, whatever, sponsored this one.”

So that explains why she’s standing like that, hiding the sign. 

Murphy laughs like it’s at her antics, instead of trying to ignore how absolutely adorable she is here. It’s like the hospital, the years, all of it’s melted away and she’s just excited about prettily decorated trees.

Focus, he reminds himself.

The tree behind her has wooden bead garlands, painted red and yellow, and the ornaments are tiny, multicolored, Dachshunds. 

Murphy shrugs. “Ummm the humane society?”

Emori shakes her head, pleased with herself, and steps away with a flourish. 

**Nathan’s Diner** , the sign reads, **Arkadia’s First and Premiere Hot Dog Chain.**

“That’s sick,” Murphy says.

“What it is, is a point for me,” Emori sings. “Okay, now you find one.”

Murphy steps down the row ahead, coming to stop in front of a tree with white lights and tons of little soccer and basketballs. Emori guesses the YMCA, but it’s actually the Boys and Girls Club, but he gives it to her anyway. 

He guesses the tree with pink lights and dentures correctly (Arkadia Dentists’ Society), and the tree with hershey's chocolate bars and little paper mache trashcans next to it, Emori gets with no problem (Kane’s Family Chocolatiers, an Arkadian classic). They stop keeping score, eventually, just wandering around the paddock and pointing out the absurdities on the trees. She’s always been a gracious winner, and he’s never minded trailing. At some point, Emori’s hand finds its way back to his arm, and she’s tucked into his side like he’s escorting her at a pageant. 

Walking among the trees, Murphy thinks maybe that’s not too far off. 

When they reach the end of the last row, Emori sighs a little, almost unintentionally, sad that it’s done but content that it happened as it did. She seems to realize how close they are, in that moment, and she takes her arm back gracefully. 

Murphy wonders if he’s imagining that she looks as flustered as he feels.

“We should probably head into the market,” she says, after a beat. She runs her hand under her nose, still flushed in the cold, then looks back up at him. 

“Right,” Murphy says, remembering the justification for all of this. “A gift for Doctor Reyes.”

They head into the market, side by side but separate, and Emori immediately zones in on a metalworking booth. There’s a cool collection of signet rings that Murphy browses through while Emori is deliberating, but he doesn’t get to wear jewelry at work, so he passes over them when he feels her come back, looking over his shoulder to see what he found.

Emori holds up her selection for Raven: earrings, a mismatched set of a wrench and a drill, in sterling silver. 

Murphy never would’ve landed on those by himself. 

Mission accomplished, they meander in between booths. 

There’s wooden ornaments, carved into discs and ready for woodburning customization, there’s jerky from animals that Murphy didn’t know could be jerkied. There’s the ubiquitous maple syrup stalls, and hot sauce, and fudge, and caramel apples. He buys a couple hot chocolate, peppermint in his, dark chocolate for hers, and hopes that much hasn’t changed. 

She doesn’t say anything when she takes the paper cup from him, but her smile changes a little, when she tastes it, when she knows. 

* * *

The lull between Christmas and New Years is always slow. 

Because it’s a hospital and they all have patients and duties that don’t allow for a three hour time block, the exchanges happen at everyone’s discretion, as close to Christmas as everyone can manage. Some people leave gifts with the receptionists, some people leave them at lockers, some people toss them at each other in the breakroom. 

Murphy leaves Doctor Reyes' gift on her desk, back in the admin wing of the hospital, with a little note letting her know who it’s from, and who should actually get the credit when she likes it. 

He hasn’t heard from his secret santa yet, but he figures there’s literally a million more important things to be doing around St. Jude’s, so he’s not pressed about it. 

On lunch, Echo and Harper are at a table in the lounge and he sits with them. Monty’s assisting with a pneumonectomy, so he’s out for a couple hours, but the three of them chat about their holiday plans--namely that they have none. A lot of hospitals request travel nurses for the holidays so that some of their harder-worked staff can get time off, and the crew knows that. 

Most of them are here because there’s no family waiting around a fire for them at home. Or even a home to go back to. 

So they made their own family, their own network of people just as crazy and compassionate as they are, and they’ve gotten used to holidays in hospital wards. 

They cheers with Styrofoam cups of keurig coffee. 

Emori joins them, near the end of their lunch, and Murphy appreciates how seamlessly she fits in with them. Not that there’s any weight to that, since she’s not joining and they’re not staying, but it’s a nice affirmation of good people getting along. 

They get all get the page for nurses to please assist to Pathology; when Murphy gets up, Harper pushes him back with a gentle hand on his shoulder, assuring him that they’ve got this one. She squeezes a little before she goes, and smiles at Emori. 

Murphy picks at the rim of the styrofoam cup. “Subtlety’s never been Harper’s strong suite,” he tells Emori. 

She laughs, watching his friends go over his shoulder, toying with the pencil holding her bun in place. 

After a moment, her gaze shifts to him. “Did you give the earrings to Raven?”

“Yeah, left it on her desk,” he says, still amazed at the casualness with which the rest of the staff seems to treat her. “What about you? Get anything yet?”

“Gift card to the coffee shop in the lobby,” Emori says, amused. “Wells knows when a system isn’t broke.”

Murphy snorts, good naturedly. Maybe it is that easy, but he’d gotten the Christmas Market adventure out of his gift hunt, so he can’t find it in himself to care. 

Emori shifts a bit, leaning on one hip so she can reach into the opposite pocket. She settles back into the chair, and then leans forward, dropping something on the table. 

It’s a cloth pouch, with a little drawstring, an emblem on the front identical to one on the box in Doctor Reyes’ office.

“Merry Christmas,” Emori says, lifting a shoulder like it’s casual, settling back into her chair. "Belated."

Murphy looks at the pouch, still surprised, still uncertain. 

“You’re my secret santa?” he asks. 

“Fight club,” she chides, then smiles, pulling her legs up under her on the chair. “Come on, open it.”

He does.

It’s a ring, one of the signets he was looking at, back at the market. Engraved on the smooth surface is a wave, one smooth line, and the sweep of an ocean behind it, a tumultuous infinity. 

“Sea battler,” Emori says quietly. “I...I don’t know why that always stuck with me, but it did.”

He remembers it too, the night she’s talking about. 

The blur of smoke and etymology, on the leather couch and the Kappa Sig house. She’d told him her name meant “good natured, friendly”, and how the world had taken that as a challenge to turn her into something meaner. He’d told her that his surname was Irish, from Mac Murchadh, a son who battles the sea. 

Murphy runs his finger over the textured surface of the ring, slips it over his pinky and it goes easily, fits perfectly. 

“Do you like it?” she asks, and when he looks up at her, she looks nervous. “When we were at the market there wasn’t anything else that stood out, and I know you’d always loved your dad’s ring but then you didn’t want his and they were offering engravings, so I figured--”

“Em,” he interrupts her, waits for her to look at him, smiles reassuringly. 

“Yeah?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “It’s amazing. Honestly. Actually, it’s too much, that’s not fair; you got a gift card.”

Emori waves a hand. “Oh, that’s fine, you didn’t get me a gift card.”

Murphy looks at her. “That--that’s not the takeaway, Em, I meant that there’s a spending cap on stuff like this for a reason.”

She shrugs. “So, consider whatever was over the cap a donation.”

“Emori--”

“Look,” she interrupts him this time. “I was at a loss, and this was perfect. It’s not...it doesn’t have to be anything else, okay, I just wanted you to have it.”

Murphy looks down at his hand, at the silver he’s going to have to take off in a moment, whenever he gets called back in, as it registers. 

When he looks back up at her, she’s watching him. Her expression...he can’t read it. Is she wary? Curious? Careful? 

“It doesn’t have to be anything else,” he repeats, questioning.

Emori’s never blushed with her whole face, never been one to flush red from embarrassment, or reasons other than the cold. But her ears go crimson, always have when she’s flustered, and the pencil bun means that Murphy can see her tell. 

“I just, um, I meant that--”

The intercom blares. 

It’s a special tone, just for the staff lounge, and a message follows to call all available personnel to the receiving bay. Murphy looks up to the speakers, listens to the message, already on his feet. 

He looks down at Emori, and she gestures for him to go. 

He will, of course, he has to.

But, damn it, he really needs to hear her finish that sentence. 

* * *

Saint Jude may be the patron saint of lost causes, but Murphy figures that he’s the exception to the rule. Because as soon as he answers the call to the receiving bay, other pages go off, and he doesn’t get a moment to himself to get his thoughts straight for the rest of the day. 

And while he knew Emori’s shift would be over by the time he was off, he still feels like he missed something here. Or that something missed him.

Either way, he’s listless, but he doesn’t have a choice, so he goes back to the hotel and pretends to sleep. 

The hospital is slammed the next couple days, and it actually blurs together in a haze of shifts and pages and wards and restocking. They all know they’re supposed to clock out right at the shift change, but when Murphy gets a page at 12:05am, he pushes back a groan and takes it anyways. 

He doesn’t go much to the rehabilitation ward; more often than not, a patient fell and the receptionists need a nurse to make sure everything’s okay. 

Or, in his case, to haul said patient to their feet. 

But the ward seems quiet when he arrives, no rushing aides, coming to direct him. 

When he walks past the checkin desk, one of the nurses waves a pen at him. She’s on the phone, but once she’s caught his attention, she leans over to the directory and taps on the third line. 

<\-- Rooms R1-R22

\-->Rooms R22-R34

\-->ATRIUM

The atrium? 

But she goes back to her call and Murphy knows he needs to answer the page, so he hopes she’s not confused. 

He rounds the corner to the atrium, and it’s a peaceful scene, a serene one. As far as hospital atriums go, it’s pretty standard: the glass only goes up for two floors, before giving way to concrete after that. It’s more brushes and vines than weeping willows, but there’s a couple taller trellises, and a figure-eight loop Murphy’s walked patients along, past a bench and bird fountain. 

The moon casts a pretty glow into the foliage, and Murphy’s step stutters when he recognizes the figure standing in the moonlight. 

He jogs the rest of the way out to the atrium, the door creaking open and the sterile sounds of the hospital fading into the sound of wind through rustling leaves. 

Emori looks over when he comes in, smiles, her hair soft around her shoulders like a shawl. 

“Sorry,” she says, simply. “I know your shift ended at midnight.”

“No, it’s okay,” Murphy says automatically, processing, still walking closer. “Wait, so, just to be sure, you’re okay, right? Nothing--”

“Warranting a page?” Emori finishes for him. “Nothing’s wrong, I just figured it would be easier to page you rather than text you.”

“My number’s the same,” Murphy says, stupidly. 

Emori smiles, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Good to know.”

She doesn’t say anything more, just looks at him, a few feet of gravel path between them. 

Then she tilts her head back farther, to the moon. When she starts talking, it’s almost like she’s telling her a story, not addressing him. 

“I thought it would be different, seeing you again,” she says, voice steady. “That I would see how much either of us had changed, and why distance and time wouldn’t have worked out for us. And we did change, John, we have, and I think it was good. I think that was right.”

Murphy looks up at the moon too, unsure what he’s supposed to say, if he’s supposed to say anything at all. 

She’s right, of course, always is. 

Their breakup, so many years ago, was the right choice at the time. It was what they needed, it let them grow, and now here they are. In the moonlight, in an atrium in the middle of a hospital, where their story started and ended so many years ago. 

“Look at me,” she says, quiet, and when Murphy looks down, her gaze is no longer heavenward, but she’s looking at him. 

He looks back. 

He wonders what she sees--the broken boy in university, the dreamer who learned to trust himself because of her? The son of a warrior, or someone who battles seas himself?

He wonders what she’s thinking--of the years lost, of the different people they are, of dark chocolate and peppermint cocoa?

“Damn it, John Murphy,” she says, but she says it almost fondly, the sweetest smile on her face. And before he can even try to begin to unpack what that means, she crosses the last bit of distance between them, reaches up to the side of his face, and pulls him down to kiss her.

He remembers, immediately, the feel of her lips against his, the way her mouth moves and her fingers curl into his hair. He remembers the way he could lose himself in her, surrendering every good and wretched thing to her, and she'll make them whole, and ask for whatever else he has for her. He remembers that sometimes she smiles when she kisses him, that she sighs when she pulls back, that his favorite sight in the world is her lashes lifting so their eyes can meet, a breath apart. 

She sighs, warm breath fanning against his cheek, and she blinks slowly. Her arms are around his neck and he’s pretty sure she’s on the tips of her toes to reach him, but she seems steady.

He knows this is the steadiest he’s been in years.

“It made sense to start this new year with you,” she says, softly.

Is it New Years?

It must be. 

Murphy clears his throat. “I don’t want it to be anything else,” he says, carefully, thinking of her words in the lounge earlier. “If we start this, we start something. Deliberate. Like we meant to, like we didn’t take six years to get back around to it.”

Emori smiles, brighter than the moonbeams, wrinkles her nose a little so it brushes against his. “I like the sound of that,” she whispers.

And she kisses him again, at the start of a new year, brimming with hope and possibilities, seas to be battled and battles to be won, all of which worth winning, for the love of his first love, the woman in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTES: Why yes, I did lift the atrium from Room 337. If I’m going to use my limited grey’s anatomy exposure to hospitals as the basis for a fic, I might as well make it “in universe”, by making the finale in the same place as my most popular bellarke fic haha. 
> 
> TROPES: (1) The characters play a game - guessing the trees/organizations at the festival (2) Secret Santa - emori has murphy, of course, BP for one ex having the other (3) Exes to Lovers - ah RIP sweet young Memori, BP because of distance (4) Surprise kiss - isn’t it the dream to be surprise kissed on new years by the love of your life?? (BP) spacekru being murphy’s nursing fam and the happy ending being the happy hopeful ending. I hope you liked it!


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